No matter what topic the Officials chose, the conversation
invariably reverted to the subject of eating; which
only increased their appetite more and more.
So they decided to give up talking altogether, and,
recollecting the Moscow Gazette that the one
of them had found, they picked it up and began to
read eagerly.

BANQUET GIVEN BY THE MAYOR

“The table was set for one hundred persons.
The magnificence of it exceeded all expectations.
The remotest provinces were represented at this feast
of the gods by the costliest gifts. The golden
sturgeon from Sheksna and the silver pheasant from
the Caucasian woods held a rendezvous with strawberries
so seldom to be had in our latitude in winter...”

“The devil! For God’s sake, stop
reading, your Excellency. Couldn’t you
find something else to read about?” cried the
other Official in sheer desperation. He snatched
the paper from his colleague’s hands, and started
to read something else.

“Our correspondent in Tula informs us that yesterday
a sturgeon was found in the Upa (an event which even
the oldest inhabitants cannot recall, and all the
more remarkable since they recognised the former police
captain in this sturgeon). This was made the occasion
for giving a banquet in the club. The prime cause
of the banquet was served in a large wooden platter
garnished with vinegar pickles. A bunch of parsley
stuck out of its mouth. Doctor P——­
who acted as toast-master saw to it that everybody
present got a piece of the sturgeon. The sauces
to go with it were unusually varied and delicate—­”

“Permit me, your Excellency, it seems to me
you are not so careful either in the selection of
reading matter,” interrupted the first Official,
who secured the Gazette again and started to
read:

“One of the oldest inhabitants of Viatka has
discovered a new and highly original recipe for fish
soup; A live codfish (lota vulgaris) is taken
and beaten with a rod until its liver swells up with
anger...”

The Officials’ heads drooped. Whatever
their eyes fell upon had something to do with eating.
Even their own thoughts were fatal. No matter
how much they tried to keep their minds off beefsteak
and the like, it was all in vain; their fancy returned
invariably, with irresistible force, back to that
for which they were so painfully yearning.

Suddenly an inspiration came to the Official who had
once taught handwriting.

“I have it!” he cried delightedly.
“What do you say to this, your Excellency?
What do you say to our finding a muzhik?”

“A muzhik, your Excellency? What sort of
a muzhik?”

“Why a plain ordinary muzhik. A muzhik
like all other muzhiks. He would get the breakfast
rolls for us right away, and he could also catch partridges
and fish for us.”